Free Rise Again by Ben Tripp

others running and dying, like the ones they’d seen here in Forest Peak, but in huge numbers. All over the place. Out there in the wide world where Kelley is , said the voice in her head.
    It had been less than fifteen seconds since the mirror hit Danny’s thigh, and she could almost move the leg again. As she had learned when she threw away the cane after the town elections, you don’t heal an injury by treating it like a friend.
    “You hurt, Sheriff?” Nick said.
    Danny didn’t have anything useful to say—this was not the time to bark at the minions—so she drew her sidearm and gestured with the weapon: Follow me . Nick did so. Danny fed orders into her radio mic, summoning the remainder of her tiny peacekeeping force: Highway Patrolman Park would do what he could in town; Danny wanted Dave, Nick, and Ted to assemble down on Route 114. What they needed was a roadblock, something she knew a great deal about.
    Patrick thought traffic was light enough so they could start moving. Weaver switched on the video screen that showed the view to the rear, as seen by an all-weather camera mounted on the roof. There was an overturned baby stroller behind them but the cars were cleared out, room enough to back up. Weaver switched the screen off again.
    “All those cars are going to be stuck on Main Street for another hour,” Weaver said. “We’ll only be stuck behind them.”
    “But Weaver!”
    “Panic is panic. You think it’s gonna help?”
    “When do I not panic?” Patrick said.
    “Patrick?”
    “Okay. I know. I’m shutting up.”
    They waited as a few stray cars that had been parked up the hill on Sawyer Road drove past to join the fray, then they were almost alone except for the few locals who stood at the end of the parking lot to watch the pandemonium on Main Street. The locals weren’t freaking out because they were already where they belonged. Patrick knew dislocation was a powerful feeling and it drove as much mindless fear as did the threat of bodily harm. He watched through the tall windshield of the motor home, but Weaver was examining his Geological Survey map, one of those outdoorsy charts that were more geared to topographical details than useful features like restaurants and outlet malls. To Patrick, the map was a mass of meaningless wavy lines, like an Op-Art painting.
    “Check it out,” Weaver said. “Everybody’s heading downhill, right? That’s here.” Weaver indicated the road with his finger. Then he tapped the other end of town, where they were now parked.
    “But if you go the other way—”
    Here he followed a line that twisted up deeper into the mountains—“You get up to Big Bear, and from there you can go down the other side to Scobie Tree and hook up with Route 66 again. It’s a bitch of a drive and it’s probably three hours extra, but I guess it will put us back in civilization before any of them even make it past the Forest Peak Chevron station.”
    Patrick nodded. Weaver was right. Then something else occurred to him.
    “What if there’s trouble down there, too?”
    Weaver gave him that slow cowboy smile.
    “Light dawns on Marble Head. We got caviar, crackers, and beer. We got a queen-size bed and a flush toilet. While everybody is losing their minds, I suggest we wait things out right here in Forest Peak.”
    Officer Park, responding to Danny’s urgent inquiry, thought he could hold things together on Main Street, although the sheriff told him not to hesitate to call down some of Greer’s firemen if things got out of hand—anybodyin a uniform would help, especially if they happened to be carrying fire axes.
    Danny tried to put her priorities in order. What mattered the most: public order? Keeping the town safe? Getting everybody out? Preparing for whatever was coming from down below? There ought to be a huddle with Mayor Crocker, and anybody else in a position of authority, too. It seemed like she had to make all of it happen at once.
    Danny had Dave take the Crown